Illusions
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for Malleus Maleficarum. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Malleus Maleficarum', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Ben Edlund.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

Dean hasn't actually stopped being mad at the idea of Sam trusting a demon, he just has had other things on his mind lately and hasn't thought about her in a couple weeks. And then she showed up, in the middle of the road messing with Dean's baby and running her skank mouth about him checking out on Sam – like he would be if he had any _choice_ in the matter – and it pisses Dean off all over again.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growls at Sam as they walk through the door of their latest room.

"What? What the hell was _I_ thinking?"

"She's a demon, Sam! Period! Alright? They want us dead, we want them dead!"

"Oh, that's funny, I remember that demon in chick in Ohio! Casey? You didn't want her dead!" Sam returns.

"Yeah, well, she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook."

"No one's stringing me along!" Sam cries. "Look, I know it's dangerous. That _she_ is dangerous. But like it or not, she's useful!"

Dean _doesn't_ like it. He doesn't like Ruby, at all, and he doesn't for a second like what she's so clearly doing to Sam. Dean is supposed to be the only one allowed to mess with Sam. "No! We kill her before she kills us!"

"Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?" Sam asks sarcastically, and Dean spreads his arms out and raises his eyebrows.

"Whatever works!"

"Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives," Sam points out, entirely too reasonable to Dean's liking, and that pisses him off even more. "Look, we have to start looking at the big picture, Dean, start thinking in strategies, and moves ahead!"

Dean doesn't answer; he goes over to the sink and turns on the faucet to splash some cold water on his face, but Sam doesn't stop.

"It's not so simple, we're not just hunting anymore! We're at war!"

Dean glances up at his brother's reflection in the mirror, and then he turns around and asks, "Are you feeling okay?"

Sam sighs in frustration and plops down onto the edge of one of the beds. "Why are you always asking me that?"

"Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters." He really wanted to believe Bobby when he said he didn't think there was anything wrong with Sam – that he didn't think Sam came back different when Dean traded his soul for Sam's – but lately Dean's been wondering if maybe he's wrong about that. "And by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. You know, it used to eat you up inside."

"Yeah? And what has that got me?"

"Nothing! But it's just what you're supposed to do, okay? We're supposed to drive in the freakin' car and freakin' argue about this stuff! You know, you go on about the sanctity of life, and all that crap!" Something uncomfortable twists in Dean's stomach and his hand goes there automatically.

"Wait, so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?" Sam asks incredulously.

"No, I'm not mad," Dean groans – annoyed that Sam's misunderstanding him, and his stomach really doesn't feel right. Maybe he ate something that had passed its expiry date. He sits down on the other bed. "I – I'm – I'm worried, Sam. I'm worried 'cause you're not acting like yourself."

"Yeah, you're right! I'm not! I don't have a choice!"

Dean frowns. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sam's face falls a little. "Look, Dean, you're leaving. Right? And I gotta stay here in this crap-hole or a world. Alone. So the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I gotta change."

"Change into what?"

"Into you," Sam says quietly. "I gotta be more like you."

Dean's never bothered with recording things like this so he can't be sure, but he thinks that might be the saddest thing he's ever heard. Sammy shouldn't ever be anything but Sammy – even if Dean gives him crap for it, he loves Sam exactly the way he is and the last thing he would _ever_ want is for Sam to be more like him. He also doesn't know why Sam's suddenly okay with admitting that Dean's going to die, when he's spent the last however many months swearing up and down he's going to save Dean even if it kills him. That must be Ruby's doing, too, and man does Dean wish Sam had let him shoot her. But then the discomfort in his gut turns sharp and white-hot and something is wrong more than just food-poisoning, and Dean forgets what they were talking about.

* * *

Dean's outside going for a soda from the machine when all the lights start flickering and the wind suddenly drops ten degrees. He reaches for the gun in his pocket instinctively, but he knows who it is before she shows herself. She makes his skin crawl. Not just because she's a demon; because she's a demon who's managed to convince Dean's little brother not to kill her. Dean really doesn't like the idea of someone manipulating Sam like this bitch has.

"So the Devil may care after all, is that what I'm supposed to believe?"

"I don't believe in the devil."

Dean raises his eyebrows at her and almost grins as he walks toward her. "Wacky night. So let me get this straight, you were human once, you died, went to Hell, and became a …"

"Yeah."

She starts to walk away, but Dean stops her by asking, "How long ago?"

"Back when the Plague was big."

"So, all of 'em? Every damn demon? They were all human once?"

She turns around slowly to face him. "Every one I've ever met."

Dean pretends that doesn't freak him out as much as it does. "Well they sure don't act like it."

"Most of them have forgotten what it means. Or even that they were. That's what happens when you go to Hell, Dean. That's what Hell is. Forgetting what you are."

"Philosophy lesson from a demon. I'll pass, thanks," Dean snarks at her.

"It's not philosophy. It's not a metaphor. There's a real fire in the pit. Agonies you can't even imagine."

Dean's _been_ imagining them, and he's scared, even if he refuses to say it out loud. He pushes the thought away by smugly saying, "Oh, I saw _Hell Raiser. _I get the gist."

"Actually, they got that pretty close. Except for all the custom leather. The answer's yes, by the way."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, same thing will happen to you."

That thought actually hadn't occurred to Dean, and he really hopes he manages to hide the way it hits him like a wrecking ball to the gut. If he goes to Hell, he'll become a demon. He'll become the thing he hates more than anything in the world. He'll ruin lives the way the yellow-eyed demon ruined theirs. It makes him sick.

"It might take centuries," she continues, "but sooner or later Hell will burn away your humanity. Every Hell-bound soul, every one, turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah, yeah you can count on it."

"There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?" he asks, knowing the answer before she says it.

"No," she sighs.

"Then why'd you tell Sam that you could?"

"So he would talk to me. You Winchesters can be pretty bigoted. I needed something to help him get past the – "

"The demon thing?" Dean interrupts coldly. "It's pretty hard to get past."

She laughs through her nose and smiles at him – somehow beautiful and terrible all at the same time. "Look at you. Try'na be all stoic. My god, it's heartbreaking."

"Why're you telling me all this?" Dean grinds out.

"I need your help."

"Help with what?"

"With Sam."

Just the way his baby brother's name rolls off her evil tongue makes Dean want to hit her.

"The way you stuck that demon tonight? That was pretty tough. Sam's almost there, but not quite. You need to help me get him ready. For life without you. To fight this war on his own."

She starts walking away again, and Dean calls after her, "Ruby! Why do you want us to win?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm not like them. I don't know why, I … I wish I was. But I'm not. I remember what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Being human."

Dean looks away for a second, not sure if he wants to believe her or not, and then when he looks back up she's gone.

He forgets about the soda and makes his way slowly back to the room instead. He won't tell Sam what she said about not being able to save him. He can't. Dean isn't blind. He sees how much all this is hurting Sam. He knows that clinging to the hope that Ruby can keep Dean from going to Hell is the only thing that keeps Sam going sometimes. And Dean can't take that away from him. Maybe it will just hurt Sam that much more when Dean's deal is up and Sam wasn't able to stop it from happening, maybe it _would_ be kinder to tell him, but Dean can't. And he _is_ afraid; a lot more than he's been willing to admit even to himself. The truth is, he's terrified. But he can't tell Sam that either. For whatever worth it still has left, Dean's still the big brother. Until the day he's dragged off this earth, he's still _Sam's_ big brother. He still has to be strong for Sammy.

He ignores whatever it is Sam says to him as he walks through the door in favor of grabbing Sam around the waist and leaning up and pressing their lips together. Sam makes a quiet noise in surprise but he quickly gets with the program, draping his arms over Dean's shoulders and kissing him back. Every time they do this Dean can't help being painfully aware that it's just one time closer to the last time they ever will. He's been trying really hard not to think about it, but the harder he tries the harder it is to keep those thoughts out of his mind. All he wants is to just get lost in Sam, to drown in him like he used to. When they were younger, or even as recently as a year ago, being with Sam let Dean push everything else away. He'd just lose himself – in the warmth from Sam's skin and Sam's lips on his and the way he felt when Sam touched him, and everything else would melt away until nothing mattered but the two of them tangled up in a mess of limbs and sweaty bodies and hearts bound together by blood and loss and sacrifice. It was as close to salvation as Dean thinks he'll ever get. He wishes so much that it still worked that way. Lately, even when they're in the middle of it, Dean's been having a much harder time distancing himself from all the things he's not doing a very good job of running from.

"Are we gonna talk about what happened tonight?" Sam asks between kisses.

"No," Dean says. He slides his hands under Sam's shirt, feeling the warm skin under his fingers. Sam is always hot like an electric blanket; in the summer it kinda sucks for both of them but on cold nights like tonight, Dean just wants to plaster every possible surface of his body to Sam's heat.

"Why?"

"'Cause it doesn't matter."

For a moment, Dean thinks he's won that battle. He just kisses Sam and Sam just kisses him back, soft and sweet and loving, and Dean wouldn't convince either of them if he said he didn't love it when it's like that between them. But then Sam speaks up just one more time.

"Are you mad at me about Ruby?" he asks softly, resting his forehead against Dean's. He runs his hands down Dean's back and lets them settle on Dean's hips.

Dean shakes his head, reaching up and brushing the hair out of Sam's eyes, more out of habit than anything else. "Are you mad at _me_ about Ruby?"

Sam sighs. "I get why you don't trust her. I just wish you trusted me a little more."

"I do. Hey." Dean cups Sam's cheek and forces his brother to look at him after Sam makes a derisive noise in his throat. "I _do_. It has nothing to do with you. Okay? Nothing."

Sam nods, but he doesn't look entirely convinced, so Dean kisses the corner of his mouth.

"She's a demon, Sammy. It's not like it's easy for me to just believe she's telling us the truth. And I don't want her to come between us."

"Yeah. I get it," Sam says again. Then he nudges his nose along Dean's cheek and kisses it. "And she won't."

"Okay." Dean's not totally sure he believes that, but he's willing to pretend he does.

He kisses Sam again, deepening it this time, licking gently along Sam's lips and sliding his tongue into Sam's mouth when he opens up. Sam sighs, a little hum vibrating between them, and Dean grips him harder and sweeps his tongue around in Sam's mouth. He can feel blood rushing south just from being this close to Sam; it makes him dizzy and warm and all he wants is to just push Sam down onto the bed and do his best to get back what they used to have before the deal he made changed everything. Dean still can't regret making it, because Sam is real and here and alive in his arms and Dean wouldn't trade that for anything, but he hates what it's doing to them. In a way, he sort of wishes the crossroads demon had just taken him there on the spot, like it did with Dad, so they wouldn't have to go through this whole agonizingly drawn out _last year_. Dean's grateful for the time, the time to soak up as much of Sam as he can and the time to figure out how to say goodbye, but he thinks it would have been easier on Sam if he'd died the night he sold his soul. Every day that goes by that Sam still hasn't figured out how to save him, Dean can see the light in his eyes dimming just a little bit more.

Other than sex, Dean doesn't know how to make Sam happy anymore. And he's not exactly complaining about that, because sex is awesome and sex with Sam is like awesome-squared, but it used to be all it would take to get those dimples out was Dean telling a stupid joke or teasing Sam about his hair or something equally trivial. It hurts that Dean can't seem to do that anymore. Sam hardly ever smiles these days – sometimes weeks will go by without him cracking even the smallest of grins – and Dean hates it. A psychiatrist would probably say it isn't good for either of them to use sex as a way to cope with everything, but it's all they have. It's all _Dean_ has. It's the one way he can still feel close to his brother.

"You check out the shower in this place?" he asks, moving away from Sam's lips to smear kisses along his smooth jaw.

"When I was using it. Why?"

"Big enough for both of us?"

"Oh." Sam exhales a little and Dean can hear the smile on his face when he says, "Not really. But that's never stopped us before."

Dean grins too, and shrugs. "So I'll have to be pressed right up against you. I can think of worse things."

"Yeah." Sam squeezes his hands around Dean's hips and kisses his neck. "Me too."

Dean gets his fingers up under Sam's thin t-shirt and pushes it slowly up his chest – Sam lifts his arms up so Dean can tug the material over his head, and then Dean ducks down and laves his tongue along Sam's collarbone. Sam nudges him, trying to get Dean shirtless too, and Dean lets him. His jacket falls to the floor along with his shirts, and when he pulls Sam in close again to kiss him, the feeling of his bare skin against Sam's is way better than through layers of clothing. It would be even better if they were wet, though, so he starts walking them toward the bathroom. He steps out of his shoes when they get there and Sam does the same. Then he undoes the button and zipper on Sam's pants, purposely brushing his fingers over where Sam's quickly hardening in his boxers, just to hear him sigh. He pushes Sam's pants and underwear down and off and then his own, kicking them off his ankles and then leaning over to spin the faucet to hot. Sam crowds in behind him, kissing the back of Dean's neck, and for just a moment Dean lets him before he steps into the shower and reaches behind himself to pull Sam with him.

Dean faces the spray, taking a moment to adjust the water temperature, while Sam wraps his arms around Dean's waist, hands splaying low on Dean's stomach, and presses his big body along Dean's back. Dean can feel Sam's hard cock pushing against his ass and smiles and rocks his hips back into it just a little.

"I promised you could pitch, didn't I?" he asks, tipping his head back to rest on Sam's shoulder.

Sam chuckles, deep and low and right in Dean's ear, sending shivers down his spine. He slides one hand down and plays gently with the wiry curls at the base of Dean's almost fully-hard cock. "Yeah. Weeks ago. But whatever. I … I'm happy with anything."

Dean laughs. "You're easy, is what you mean."

Sam laughs too, even if he swats Dean's hip in retaliation. "_No_. Just mean as long as it's you, I'm not picky."

"Mm," Dean hums. "Good to know."

Sam spreads wet kisses along his neck and he wraps one hand around Dean's cock, stroking it slowly, their skin turned slippery in the water. Dean exhales deeply, warmed up inside with the sensation, and he opens his eyes and looks down because he _loves_ the sight of his hard flesh peeking in and out of Sam's huge hand as he strokes. For a while, he just lets Sam control things. Sam squeezes and twists his fist around Dean's cock and drags his teeth over Dean's earlobe and Dean leans against him and lets Sam take his weight and reaches one hand behind himself to pet through Sam's damp hair. Sam has talented lips and even more talented hands and Dean's warm and aroused and he's perfectly content with Sam's arms wrapped around him. But then he gently pushes Sam away and turns them around so Sam's back is to the cascade of water. He kisses Sam deeply, moving in close enough so their cocks rub together and licking over every bit of Sam's mouth that he can reach. Sam squeezes a handful of Dean's ass and pulls him in closer, a soft, breathy noise escaping his lips.

It spurs Dean on, and he presses one more quick kiss to the corner of Sam's mouth and then he drops down to his knees. First, he just picks Sam's erection up in his hand and trails his fingers over it to tease him, while he smiles up and Sam and Sam rolls his eyes but then smiles back. Dean licks at the tip of it, slowly and as sensually as he can, and Sam looks like he doesn't _want_ to think it's hot but does anyway. His eyes darken and he runs his fingers through Dean's short, wet hair.

"Love the way you taste," Dean tells him, before he takes the head into his mouth and sucks on it, his eyes falling closed. He laves his tongue back and forth over the underside and keeps stroking slowly with his hand wrapped around the shaft.

"Dean," Sam mumbles, but then he doesn't say anything else, so Dean moves forward and lets more of it slide into his mouth.

Sam is big and hot and solid and he tastes familiar on Dean's tongue, and a hundred years ago before he'd ever done this with Sam, Dean would have punched the lights out of anyone who tried to tell him he'd like it. But he does. He's always been sure it's _Sam_ that he likes, not the actual act itself, and somehow that makes it better.

Dean bobs his head slowly, drawing zig-zag patterns with his tongue the way he knows Sam likes, and Sam moans and cups Dean's face in his hand. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the corner of Dean's mouth, feeling the spot where they're connected, and Dean sucks particularly hard right then just to hear Sam moan again. He cups Sam's balls in one hand, squeezing gently and rolling them in his fingers because he knows Sam likes that even if Sam's never said it, and he reaches the other hand around to pet at the cleft of Sam's ass. He opens his eyes and glances up at his brother, searching for permission but also just wanting to see the pleasure on Sam's face, and he gets both with a short nod of Sam's head and lust in his heavy-lidded eyes. Dean pushes his fingers between the cheeks of Sam's ass and pets the pad of one over Sam's hole, letting it slide inside a moment later. The water slicks his way a little, but without lube he won't get more than one comfortably inside Sam. It doesn't matter; Dean quickly finds Sam's prostate with just one anyway and presses against it. Sam cries out, a noise halfway between a grunt and a groan, and bucks a little into Dean's mouth.

"Sorry," he mutters a second later, brushing the backs of his knuckles over Dean's cheek, but Dean shakes his head and makes meaningful eye-contact with Sam so Sam knows it's okay.

Slowly, and gently because he's Sam and he's gentle right down to his soul even though he's enormous and tough and a completely kick-ass hunter, Sam rocks his hips so his cock slides in and out of Dean's mouth. Dean keeps his eyes locked on Sam's while he relaxes his jaw and lets Sam fuck his mouth, nowhere near hard enough to choke him but enough to have tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. It's dirty and hot and Dean abandons playing with Sam's sac in favor of reaching down and wrapping his hand around his own cock just for some relief.

"Dean," Sam says again, his voice rougher and higher pitched this time, and Dean presses his finger harder against Sam's prostate, rubbing it in tiny circles and not letting up until Sam's eyes slam shut and he cries out again and comes down Dean's throat. Dean swallows over and over, barely tasting Sam's release in his haste to get it all down, and by the time Sam's cock finishes twitching he looks wrecked and exhausted and like he's barely managing to keep his knees from buckling. Dean pulls off his dick with a wet pop and stands back up, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist and not at all able to keep a huge grin off his face when Sam sways a little on his feet.

"Good?" he asks, already knowing the answer and completely pleased with himself over it.

Sam laughs shakily, leaning down and resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "Fuck," he supplies helpfully, and Dean laughs too.

"Eloquently put."

Sam mumbles something almost incoherently about not realizing Dean knew that word, that doesn't carry nearly as much weight as an insult as it would if he had managed to get the full sentence out. Dean chuckles warmly and hugs him tightly, closing his eyes and breathing Sam in for just a moment before he moves away and leads Sam out of the shower. He hands Sam a towel and they pat themselves dry in silence, and then Dean takes Sam's hand and pulls him back into the main room. He nudges Sam toward the bed, smiling to himself as Sam collapses down on it on his back and just lies there looking relaxed and fucked out and so beautiful it hurts Dean's heart a little.

Dean grabs the lube from his bag and tosses it in the direction of the bed. Sam fumbles but manages to catch it, and Dean flops down beside him, propping his head up on his elbow and pressing his body along the side of Sam's.

"Gotta rally, dude. We're not done yet."

Sam chuckles quietly, and then he looks at the tube in his hand and then up at Dean with uncertainty in his beautiful eyes. "You sure?"

Dean nods, and leans down to kiss Sam's lips. "Love you," he whispers, and Sam shivers a little and pulls Dean in closer with a hand around the back of his neck.

There's a small part of Dean that doesn't like how strongly Sam reacts whenever he says those words, because it reminds him of how long it took him to work up the courage to say it, how close he came to losing Sam and never getting to say it at all, and of the fact that in just a few short months, Sam won't ever get to hear him say it again. But for now, Dean pushes those thoughts away. They won't help anything; they'll only make him miserable. And right now, the only thing he wants to feel is Sam.


End file.
